I can wrap my legs around my neck.
I think we all have a little dark side we keep under wraps.
What did you do?” I mumble. He is just a few feet away from me now, but not close enough to hear me. As he passes me he stretches out his hand. He wraps it around my palm and squeezes. Squeezes, then lets go. His eyes are bloodshot; he is pale. “What did you do?” This time the question tears from my throat like a growl. I throw myself toward him, struggling against Peter’s grip, though his hands chafe. “What did you do?” I scream. “You die, I die too” Tobias looks over his shoulder at me. “I asked you not to do this. You made your decision. These are the repercussions.
We all want to have a place where we can dream and escape anything that wraps steel bands around our imagination and creativity.
In my integrity I'll wrap me up.
I prefer someone who burns the flag and then wraps themselves up in the Constitution over someone who burns the Constitution and then wraps themselves up in the flag.
Have a core concept, but wrap it in a full business model.
My beard grows down to my toes, I never wears no clothes, I wraps my hair Around my bare, And down the road I goes.
One of the problems I have always discussed is the refusal to distinguish between comment and fact. The newspaper wraps every fact into a comment. It is impossible to give mere fact without establishing point of view.
If you wrap yourself in daffodils I will wrap myself in pain
Therapy is extremely expensive. Popping bubble wrap is radically cheap.
I softly sink into the bath of sleep: With eyelids shut, I see around me close The mottled, violet vapors of the deep, That wraps me in repose.
But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.
I wrap myself up in virtue. [Lat. , Mea virtute me involvo. ]
The only universal language I know of that wraps up joy and gratitude and love is laughter.
As the days piled up into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and fall slid into winter, I realized one of the great truths about tragedy: You can dream of disappearing. You can wish for oblivion, for endless sleep or the escape of fiction, of walking into a river with your pockets full of stones, of letting the dark water close over your head. But if you've got kids, the web of the world holds you close and wraps you tight and keeps you from falling no matter how badly you think you want to fall.
The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps The grimy scraps Of withered leaves about your feet And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps.
Queuing tips for fans: wrap up and bring food!
My happiest moment is the day they call wrap and I'm free. I'm not looking back.
It's a hard concept for me to wrap my head around to completely sacrifice any sort of love in your life, to never experience that on a personal level.